


Post-Mortem

by Mizudoriko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ahhhhhhhhh-screaming from the Author due to stress, At Least...Not Yet, But he's human so he allowed mistakes, Entities Personified: Death, He could have been better, He has horrible mistakes, Hogwarts, I apologize if it offends anyone, I try, Like, MOD Harry Potter, Mental illnesses?, Not Really Graphic Violence, Probably not correct depictions of mental illnesses, Semi Dumbledore Bashing, Sort Of, Time - Freeform, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Tom Should Have His Own Warning Tag, but like, but they're probably not exactly accurate, etc. - Freeform, life - Freeform, look how Tom turned out the first time around, magic happens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-10-10 18:18:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17431058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizudoriko/pseuds/Mizudoriko
Summary: In which the Final Battle of Hogwarts does not go down the way it should have. The Elder Wand was not Harry's, but it ends up recognizing him as its master anyway when Harry fires of a Killing Curse that hits Voldemort seconds before the Dark Lord's hits him.Death is not supposed to let his Master die, but what is an Entity to do when his Master is instated post-mortem?Procure the help of Time to annoy Fate and Destiny of course.Harry did not sign up for this, dammit.





	1. Mori

He is dead.

This isn’t as uncomfortable a revelation as he thought it would be. Perhaps for someone else, but for him, it came more of a relief to know that he finally died.

No, he isn’t depressed. Nor is he suicidal, even if he has every reason to be. After all, having an abusive childhood and being at the top of an insane Dark Lord’s hit list does do considerable damage to one’s psyche.

He is just...tired.

Bone chillingly tired. Tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of  _ trying so hard to not burn what bridges he had left. _

Tired.

But that’s all over now. He’s dead.

The Dark Lord is also dead, he made sure of that, saw the terrible flash of unnatural green hit the disfigured serpentine form of what used to be a man.

The same flash of green hit him as well, seconds after the Dark Lord perished. 

They say that one has to have the intent to kill behind the casting of the Killing Curse, he didn’t understand, still doesn’t quite understand. But he did know that when he cast it, there was only the tiredness and the all consuming desire for everything to just end.

Death is the end of all things, no?

Perhaps that is why it worked.

He doesn’t think of himself as one who’d commit murder...but that was what he did, wasn’t it? Even in his first year...Professor Quirrell, that was his fault. The man died because of him. Although, it was Voldemort’s fault too...just like the final battle. He killed someone again, and it was also the Dark Lord’s fault.

Funny how the Dark Lord is partially responsible for his own demise, especially with how the man flinched away from the all-pervasive pull of Death.

Except…none of that matters now.

Death is the termination of all things.

He’ll get to see his family again, the thought rouses a few sparks of happiness and contentment, though they fade soon after to confusion.

Where is his family? His friends? The ones that perished with him at the Battle of Hogwarts?

Why doesn’t he see anything?

There is no answer to his frantic questions flurrying like freshly disturbed ash. And yet, he already knows why. 

_ The Stone. The Wand. The Cloak. _

_ The Three Brothers. _

_ Master of Death. _

How could Death be so cruel, it is supposed to be fair, is it not? Could it not spare its Master the pain of Life?

Apparently not.

Harry could only sigh and close his eyes as Time began to flow in reverse, pulling him along with it in swirling eddies of half formed eternities. It gifts a fully formed one to him, He doesn’t want it, but Time is insistent that he take it.

So he does, too tired to argue.

At least now he has the ability to literally sleep forever, though true death may be denied to him.

The breath is knocked out of his lungs as Time drops him off, colors bursting into existence, banishing away the golden sands as Time nudges him forward in what could pass as a farewell.

It’s hard to tell with the Elder Entities, they do not concern themselves with human customs or behaviors.

He stands up unsteadily, the few tendrils of golden sand pulling him up with what might be worry, they poke and prod him gently, as if examining him for injuries. Seemingly satisfied, they fade away as well.

Time has its duties to attend to with Life and Death, it has completed its job of bring Harry to wherever this is supposed to be.

Harry stands still for a few more moments, pondering over his next choice in actions. The fact that Time was the one to bring him here most likely means that he’s no longer in 1998. He should find out more about where he ended up before coming to conclusions. The startling truth of his new appearance only drives the point further home.

He’s short, unnaturally so for someone seventeen years of age.

He’s more like….seven? There is a flash of gold in the corner of his eye that quickly disappears as the number is supplied to him.

Ah, Time seems to be still watching over him...that is unusually charitable of an Elder Entity.

Shaking his head to clear his musings, Harry moves from where he had been placed, taking in the sights around him. Nobody seems to have noticed anything unusual. It figures, from what he can tell, these are all Muggles.

And Time would not be so sloppy, the Entity is quite particular about paradoxes and disturbances in its flow.

How does Harry know all of this?

He does not know, perhaps it is a part of being the Master of Death. More thought on the topic puts his unusual calm about the entire situation under the same category.

Harry wonders if Time would be so kind to tell him the date—another flash of gold, barely perceptible:

_ August 6th, 1934. _

Well, that’s a predicament to find himself in, sixty four years in the past with no way to fend for himself. Harry rearranges his previous statement, he is  _ mostly _ helpless, he still has magic. Alright, so having magic basically equates him to not being helpless at all, but still.

Harry has his work cut out for him.


	2. Tergum apud tempus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eh...Harry might be a bit obsessed with death?

Except...Harry doesn't know what he's supposed to be doing here. Sure, he died and Death can't have his Master perish, but the Entity could have at least revived him where at the battle ground instead of London over half a century in the past.

"Hey, kid!"

Kid? Harry hopes whoever is calling does not mean him, he is no child. What remains of his previous personality not crushed by the all pervasive calm rears it's head in indignity. 

Death is kind. Death is fair. Death does not judge nor make assumptions. Death has no use for emotions.

Neither does Harry apparently seeing that he is now Death's Master. Though he is not sure that there is anyone who can truly be the Master of Death. A mere mortal soul, no matter how long it's life span may be or how powerful the magic it possessed in Life can hold dominion over an Entity of the Other, especially not on of the Elder like Death.

And yet, Death has accepted Harry as their Master.

How...concerning? Harry is not sure that is the proper name for the trickle of emotion he feels. Apprehension? Wariness? It matters not, he is not Hermione, he does not need to be particularly eloquent.

"Kid!" A hand grasps his shoulder roughly.

Ah, perhaps he should not have stopped walking when he decided to bury himself in his musings. This is most inconvenient.

He is forcibly turned around, Harry blankly stares at the man in front of him, a bobby.

"Where are your parents?"

Harry gives what may pass for a smile, the memory of his dead parents rising sluggishly through his unusually empty head. It does not pain him as much as it should have.

Death is just. His parents are in a better place now.

"My parents...? They are dead."

The bobby coughs awkwardly,

"I am sorry to hear about that. Where are your guardians?"

He tilts his head,

"I do not know, around?" And he truly does not know, it would seem that Time has made it their duty to keep an eye on Harry. But it is difficult to tell where Time goes when no one is looking. Are they found in the passage of days? The rise and fall of the sun?

Though the bobby probably would not like his answer, so Harry lets the statement lie in the air, vague and innocent.

Better not entangle a mortal in powers he knows not about.

"Well, let's go find them. You shouldn't wander around on your own, you know?" The man's face relaxes, taking Harry by the hand.

"When we meet your caretakers, I'll have a word with them about leaving you alone in such a crowded area of the city, who knows what could have happened."

Harry allows himself to be dragged,

"With all due respect sir, you needn't expend such an effort."

The bobby huffs a laugh,

"Aren't you polite young lad? With such impressive vocabulary too for one so young. We'll get you back to where you belong. Say, did you get lost? Is that why you are all alone?"

"No, I am not lost." Harry responds.

"No? Then we should have no trouble finding you guardians, eh?"

"I am afraid you have taken up an impossible task. They can not be found unless they allow themselves too."

"What?" They stop, the bobby looking down at him with confusion.

"You will not find my guardians as they can not be found. They are everywhere and nowhere."

Understanding dawns on the older man's face,

"I see...they are also deceased then?"

Harry sighs,

"One can not die if you are not of the living to begin with."

The bobby gives him an admonishing look,

"Why didn't you tell me earlier that you didn't have guardians? You told me that they are around!"

With that, he abruptly turns another direction, taking Harry with him.

Harry looks back up at him,

"They are around, and they were never alive to begin with."

"Is this some sort of obscure religious belief that after death people become part of the earth and nature?" The other man raises an eyebrow, skeptical, "Well, no matter the reason I assume that you are an orphan?"

Harry notes that they are walking a bit faster,

"You assume correctly. Though I must interject that one does not become part of nature upon passing on. It is the physical body that reintegrates itself to the earth. The soul's destination is decided by Death. All are equal in the eyes of Death, even though he doesn't actually have any eyes."

The bobby let's go of Harry's hand, 

"Aren't you a strange one? Maybe it's the trauma of losing loved ones so young. Whatever the reason, please keep it at a minimum when we reach the orphanage, you would be better received by the others."

"Or...phanage?"

"Yes, you have no one to look after you so here you are—"

They abruptly stop at a door of a rather rundown building with kids playing in a small enclosed lot nearby along with a garden, the name of their destination printed in fades letters:

"—Wool's Orphanage. Come on, I'll speak with the Matron about arranging your stay here."


End file.
